Forever His Most Loyal
by nearlyasquib
Summary: Days before the 1996 Azkaban breakout, Bellatrix awaits the Dark Lord in her cell. A short one shot.


Fifteen years. For some that could seem like the blink of an eye. As they watch their children grow, or see themselves growing older, people may feel that fifteen years can go by in a flash. This had not been the case for Bellatrix. Yes, the years had passed, but in an agonizingly slow haze fueled by Dementor induced bouts of despair. There had been times, she was ashamed to admit, that she had feared that her master truly was lost. Those had been the darkest moments for her as she paced her small cell in Azkaban.

She was pacing again, feet following the worn path she had created over the years as she struggled to remember her purpose, her very reason for living. An image of her master, the Dark Lord as he was called by many, flashed through her mind and she paused mid step. A smile curled her lips, made thinner by age and hard living, and she pressed her clasped hands to them. Pride shot through her as she imagined him as he had once been; proud and handsome with such an air of brilliance. How she longed to see him once again now that he had returned. _Soon he will come for me, his most loyal follower. _

The Dark Lord was the only person who could keep her sane in this place of broken minds. Just seeing him had always brought her a thrill. Like a venomous pet snake he was someone she both feared and loved. Not that her master would ever be so helpless as to be a pet; he was so strong and commanding. His power and the authority with which he wielded it sent a terrifying yet delicious shiver down her back. How could she not worship him?

Eyes half closed, hands still held to her mouth as if in prayer, she replayed several moments with the Dark Lord in her mind. He trusted her in ways that he would never be able to trust his other followers. She alone loved him this fiercely, would die for him without hesitation. Her chest tightened and she feared she might expire at that very moment, so strong was her longing for her master's voice. His was the only approval that she needed, her only weakness. There had been moments in the past when she believed that he felt some type of affection for her, if only because of her loyalty as his follower. But she knew that he would never be so soft as to fall in love, it was one of many things that she respected about him.

Love. It was a weakness for many. The disgusting woman whom Bellatrix refused to acknowledge as her blood sister had married for love. She had tarnished the family name and brought tainted blood into the Black line. Yes, love could be a weakness. But for Bellatrix it was only an emotion that further strengthened her drive to fulfill her master's wishes. Her love for him was stronger than any marriage bond. A relationship between husband and wife might produce love, but she had yet to feel it. She respected her husband, would bear his children to further their line, but she would never feel the passionate madness that true love created within her.

Outside she saw a shadowy figure slowly glide up the corridor. Darkness seemed to seep from beneath the tattered robes covering the ghastly figure and she instinctively shrank back, though it stung her pride to do so. As if sensing her thoughts, the Dementor stopped its patrol, turning as if to further her unease. Face wiped of any discomfort and eyes haughtily hooded, Bellatrix took a seat at the foot of the so called bed that they had provided her. Dirty, bare feet swinging, she gave the Dementor a look as if to suggest that she was in no way intimidated by its presence.

A moment, maybe two, passed before she was left alone to her thoughts once more. Change was coming, she could feel it. She knew that her master was well and alive; she had felt it when the mark on her arm had burned once again. Rubbing a finger over the darkened tattoo, she bared her teeth in a smile. It was only a matter of time before he came for her and her alone. Soon she would stand by his side and the two of them would cleanse the world of its filth, saviors of the wizarding race.


End file.
